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Starts she in her sleeping glory,
And her brown arms, jewelled, bare, Round and rich in queenly beauty, Wildly cleave the slumberous air. Beads of perspiration gather
On her matchless woman's brow, While her parted lips in anguish
Tell of heart-pangs none may know.
Sure some vision, dire and dreadful,
"Do I dream? Is this my palace-
How I thank thee for thy smile!
He, my Antony, untrue!
And my heart was nigh to bursting With its fearful weight of woe.
"But 't is over; yet I trembleOn what brink of fate I stand; What prophetic bird of evil
Hovers o'er this sacred land!
What if true should come my dreaming,
Then she listened, gazing outward
J. J. OWENS.
WHAT care I for the tempest? what care I for the
If it beat upon my bosom, would it cool its burning pain,
This pain that ne'er has left me since on his heart I lay,
And sobbed my grief at parting as I'd sob my soul
O Antony! Antony! Antony! when in thy circling
Shall I sacrifice to Eros my glorious woman's charms,
And burn life's sweetest incense before his sacred shrine,
With the living fire that flashes from thine eyes into mine?
Oh, when shall I feel thy kisses rain down upon my face,
As. a queen of love and beauty, I lie in thine embrace,
Melting, melting, melting, as a woman only can When she's a willing captive in the conquering arms of man,
As he towers, a god, above her?—and to yield is not defeat,
For love can own no victor if love with love shall meet!
I still have regal splendor, I still have queenly power,
And, more than all, unfaded is woman's glorious dower.
But what care I for pleasure? what's beauty to me now,
Since Love no longer places his crown upon my brow?
I have tasted its elixir, its fire has through me flashed,
But when the wine glowed brightest, from my eager lips 't was dashed.
And I would give all Egypt, but once to feel the bliss
Which thrills through all my being when 'er I meet his kiss.
The tempest wildly rages, my hair is wet with rain,
But it does not still my longing or cool my burning pain.
For Nature's storms are nothing to the raging of my soul
When it burns with jealous frenzy beyond a queen's control.
I fear not pale Octavia; that haughty Roman dame, My lion of the desert, my Antony, can tame;
I fear no Persian beauty, I fear no Grecian maid; The world holds not the woman of whom I am afraid.
But I'm jealous of the rapture I tasted in his kiss, And I would not that another should share with me that bliss.
No joy would I deny him, let him cull it where he will,
So mistress of his bosom is Cleopatra still,
So that he feels forever, when he Love's nectar sips,
'T was sweeter, sweeter, sweeter when tasted on my lips;
So that all other kisses, since he has drawn in mine,
Shall be unto my lovéd, as
water after wine."
A while let Cæsar fancy Octavia's pallid charms Can hold Rome's proudest consul a captive from these arms.
Her cold embrace but brightens the memory of mine,
And for my warm caresses he in her arms shall pine.
'T was not for love he sought her, but for her princely dower;
She brought him Cæsar's friendship, she brought him kingly power.
I should have bid him take her, had he my counsel sought,
I've but to smile upon him, and all her charms are nought;
For I would scorn to hold him by but a single hair Save his own longing for me when I'm no longer there;
And I will show you, Roman, that for one kiss from me
Wife, fame, and even honor to him shall nothing be!
Throw wide the window, Isis, fling perfumes o'er
And bind the lotus-blossoms again upon my brow.
The rain has ceased its weeping, the driving storm is past,
And calm are Nature's pulses that lately beat so fast. Gone is my jealous frenzy, and Eros reigns serene, The only god e'er worshipped by Egypt's haughty
With Antony, my lovéd, I'll kneel before his shrine Till the loves of Mars and Venus are nought to his and mine;
And down through coming ages, in every land and tongue,
With them shall Cleopatra and Antony be sung. Burn sandal-wood and cassia; let the vapor round me wreathe,
And mingle with the incense the lotus-blossoms breathe;
Let India's spicy odors and Persia's perfumes rare Be wafted on the pinions of Egypt's fragrant air. With the singing of the night breeze, the river's rippling flow,
Let me hear the notes of music in cadence soft and low.
Draw round my couch its curtains; I'd bathe my
soul in sleep;
I feel its gentle languor upon me slowly creep.
In fancy feel his presence, in fancy taste his kiss,
Hush! hush! his spirit's pinions are rustling in my
He comes upon the tempest to calm my jealous fears;
He comes upon the tempest in answer to my call,— Wife, fame, and even honor, for me he leaves them all; And royally I'll welcome my lover to my side.
I have won him, I have won him, from Cæsar and his bride!
MARY BAYARD CLARK.
CLEOPATRA TO ANTONY.
SPREAD a feast with choicest viandsFriends, 't will be my very last; Bring the rarest flowers to grace it— Haste, my sands of life flow fast! Place an asp beneath the lotus
That shall light me to the grave With its starry petals' splendor; Weep not, let your hearts be brave. Speed, Octavia, with thy minions
Fire thy heart with deadly hate! Thou wilt miss the royal victimCleopatra rules her fate!
She defies Rome's conquering legions!
Ages, speak, when time unurns
Soul to soul their love still burns.
Fatal asp, thy sleep's not endless,
Hear me, gods of boundless power!
Curdles fast life's crimson tide,
I can brave stern Pluto's frown,-
MRS. SARAH D. CLARKE,
BE A WOMAN.
OFT I've heard a gentle mother,
"Strive, my dear, to be a lady."
Like the fancy mats and chairs?
"T is not this to be a woman.
Mother, then, unto your daughter
If you in your strong affection
Yes, a woman-brightest model
Of that high and perfect beauty Where the mind and soul and body Blend, to work out life's great duty. Be a woman! Naught is higher
On the gilded list of fame;
Be a woman! On to duty!
Raise the world from all that 's low;
Lend thy influence to each effort
Be a brave, whole-souled, true woman!
O LOVE Divine! lay on me burdens if Thou wilt, To break Thy faithless one-hour watchman's shameful sleep!
Turn comforts into awful prophets to my guilt! Close to Thy garden travail let me wake and